


Acclimation

by C_Montgomery_Burns



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Hawaii, Surfing, The Careers aren't evil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-07 17:22:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20313205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/C_Montgomery_Burns/pseuds/C_Montgomery_Burns
Summary: After joining his best friend Marvel in Hawaii, Peeta Mellark is struggling to settle in. As if that wasn't difficult enough, Marvel is determined to teach him a new skill: surfing. Modern AU.





	Acclimation

**Author's Note:**

> This is a bit of an odd AU idea that just wouldn't leave me alone. So, enjoy!

As Peeta Mellark stood outside his overpriced apartment, clad in a cheap blue wetsuit that felt tight in all the wrong places and awkwardly clutching a foam longboard that he'd rented from a shop down the street, he questioned all the choices that had led him there. Cars rushed up and down the street, filling Honolulu with traffic despite the fact that it was a Saturday. Several flocked into a gas station across the street that flashed a turquoise sign emblazoned with a logo that loosely resembled ocean waves. The price read $3.59 a gallon.

Peeta shook his head. Back in Oregon, gas had never gotten anywhere near three bucks a gallon. He remembered his father grumbling when it hovered around $2.50 for a year. He imagined the older man might have a stroke if he ever had to fill up his vehicle in Oahu. Beyond the natural beauty of the islands, which had drawn Peeta's artistic eye like a magnet, the first thing he'd noticed since moving to Hawaii was the prices. Everything was expensive, from gas to groceries. The first time he'd laid eyes on a six dollar gallon of milk, he'd nearly fainted. When he'd told Marvel about it, his roommate had only laughed and told him that it was cheaper to drink beer in Hawaii than milk.

The thought of his roommate caused Peeta to shade his baby blue eyes from the bright sun and glance up and down the street, hoping to spot his friend's distinctive red jeep and failing. He sighed and dragged his wrist over his forehead, clearing the beads of sweat that the fierce Pacific sun had already created as it continued its morning climb into the azure sky overhead. He hadn't seen Marvel for several hours, his roommate having vanished before dawn with a promise to scout several beaches and find the best one for him to catch his first wave at.

Peeta rocked on the balls of his feet a bit, unable to squelch the nerves he was feeling. It wasn't that he didn't trust Marvel. They'd been friends since freshman year of college, back when fate and the university's housing department had placed them together. Peeta still remembered what an odd sight Marvel had seemed to him back then, like some exotic creature that had escaped from the zoo. The burly artist recalled how he'd hesitantly opened the door to his new room only to discover the gangly boy, perched up on his impossibly thin legs like some suntanned whooping crane and taping a poster of somebody named John John Florence over his desk. To make matters even stranger, there were crates of books by authors Peeta had never heard of scattered all over the room as if his roommate was constructing a personal library in their tiny shoebox dorm room. He'd frozen for a moment, thick wrestler's arms clutching his box of paints and pastels to his chest protectively, wondering if it was going to work or if he was going to be one of those people who would end up having a limitless supply of horror stories about their freshman roommate.

Fortunately, it did work. Before arriving at school, Peeta would have settled for a roommate he could just get along with in a second, but Marvel became one of his best friends, enough so that they remained roommates after freshman year and hung out regularly throughout college, partying and studying together on countless occasions. Over time, his friend also became decidedly less exotic. At first, Peeta had been fascinated that his roommate was from Hawaii, that he knew how to surf and had only ever been to the continental US twice before college to visit his grandparents. Sure, he'd always known that people lived in places like Hawaii and that they did stuff like surfing, but it had always been a bit abstract, something that he knew existed but never actually expected to encounter in his life. Before Marvel, he'd never actually known anyone like that, a side-effect of growing up in an inland Oregon town where Hawaiians might as well have lived on the moon.

He hadn't been the only one a bit fascinated by Marvel at first. Peeta was forced to concede that Hawaii was a much cooler answer to the Where are you from question than Oregon. Still, the more time they spent together, the less interesting that part of Marvel became. It was much more fun to watch a football game with him or get him talking about books and whatever story he was working on at that moment. Their mutually creative personalities had turned out to be one of the major icebreakers between the pair during the first few weeks of freshman year. Peeta wasn't sure exactly what he'd expected Marvel's major to be, perhaps Marine Biology, but it definitely hadn't been English. He was even more surprised to learn that his roommate was an aspiring writer. That had gotten Peeta talking about his major, the paintings he was working on. To his pleasant surprise, Marvel hadn't laughed or given him the usual spiel about how he was destined for a life of poverty. Instead, he'd asked to see some of his paintings. Peeta had dug out of one of the few he'd finished since arriving at school, a simple one depicting some of the immense pine trees scattered around campus. His roommate had held it for a moment, green eyes scanning the artwork before his lips stretched into a smirk. He'd said that it was good, but that it could use some dolphins.

Peeta laughed a bit to himself as he drifted through his memories. They were certainly good friends. He wouldn't have been willing to come to Oahu otherwise. He remembered the call he'd gotten from Marvel, only a few months after graduation. His best friend had hopped a flight back to Hawaii with a promise to check in on Peeta every now and then, just to make sure he was doing alright. To Peeta's credit, he hadn't complained when his friend had called him, even though post-college life wasn't exactly treating him well. He hadn't sold any of his paintings at the time. He'd only gotten a few into local galleries, certainly none in Portland or any other major cities. Instead, Peeta found himself back in his hometown, working in his family's bakery and painting in his spare time, his dreams of being the next Andy Warhol still nothing more than dreams.

All Peeta had revealed to his friend was that his career as an artist still hadn't gotten off the ground and that he was back living at home. But that had been enough. Marvel had said that he wouldn't stand for it and that Peeta shouldn't either, that he couldn't be a great artist if he was stuck in the same place forever. Then the idea. Peeta could almost see the Grinch-smile spreading across his friend's face as he relayed it to him. Marvel talked about how he'd been working for one of the fancy resorts in Honolulu as a surf instructor for the tourists and that he was sure he could get Peeta a job there as well if he wanted it.

"Marvel, I...thank you, but no. I can't," Peeta had answered, glancing at the alarm clock on his nightstand, the same clock that would wake up him up the following morning for another shift in the bakery. It was nearly midnight, although it was probably closer to nine for his friend.

"Why not?" Marvel huffed into the phone nearly three thousand miles away.

"I just…" Peeta floundered, struggling to find the words, "I can't just leave, y'know? I can't just pick up and go somewhere completely new."

"Why not?" Marvel repeated, "What's stopping you? Is living in your hometown, working in your family's bakery and spending all your time around the same old stuff really so wonderful?"

No, it sucks, Peeta thought, barely managing to rein the blunt answer in. Still, he couldn't deny the honesty in that first impulse. He hated the bakery, the way he always managed to burn his hands, the way flour got everywhere, the way his mother treated him. He hated living within walking distance of his old high school, being on a first name basis with nearly everyone he encountered and never being surprised by anything. Most of all, he hated feeling like he was a loser, a talentless hack that couldn't make it out of his hometown.

"Hello? You still with me?" Marvel asked, shaking Peeta out of his bitter thoughts.

"Yeah...I'm here," Peeta muttered.

"Right, so why is it exactly that you can't move out here again? I told you I can get you a job no problem and I could use a roommate anyway. It'd make the rent a helluva lot easier," Marvel argued, "C'mon, man. It'll be just like old times, except we're in a tropical paradise and we don't need fake IDs."

Peeta laughed a bit. He'd always appreciated his friend's uncanny ability to puncture tense situations with a little bit of humor. The thought made him realize just how much he missed Marvel. The thing he missed most of all was how his friend never made him feel inadequate. Marvel was never dissatisfied with who he was, never tried to mold him into someone else. Peeta had only realized as he'd gotten older just how rare those people were.

Peeta's mind had drifted back to a memory from junior year, when Marvel was preparing to study abroad for a semester in Japan and encouraging his roommate to find a similar opportunity for his major. It wasn't the first or the last time that pattern appeared in their relationship: Marvel prodding and Peeta hesitantly floundering.

As Peeta sat on his bed, his cellphone pressed up against his right ear, he remembered that conversation and how he'd responded. He remembered going to Italy the following semester, touring the Coliseum, sketching the roof of the Sistine Chapel and Michelangelo's statue of David, painting the Tuscan countryside. His time in Italy was unforgettable and he knew he'd never have gone without his friend's advice. He knew what continuing to live in his hometown would be like. He had no idea what would happen if he took his friend's advice and joined him.

"So what do you think?" Marvel's voice sounded from the phone again.

Peeta paused for a second to wonder what he had the greater chance of regretting: spending more of his twenties in his hometown or moving to Hawaii.

"Alright. I'm in."

A few of Peeta's other memories from the past year stood out, the cruel things his mother had said to him when he moved out, his father hugging him and quietly wishing him luck just before he left, the long flight out over the endless expanse of the Pacific, Marvel meeting him at the airport with a cheap lei he bought from one of the local tourist traps. All of it led to him standing awkwardly in a wetsuit on a Honolulu sidewalk, waiting for his friend to take him surfing for the first time.

It was his first time going on the actual ocean at least. In the month since Peeta had acquiesced to Marvel's constant offers to teach him how to surf, it hadn't exactly gone how the artist had expected. Instead of immediately hitting the waves, he and Marvel had spent the last few weekends on the shores of various beaches, his best friend relentlessly drilling him in the various techniques of the sport. The proper way to lay on the board, how to get up, the difference between a goofy stance and a regular one, even the correct amount of wax for the board. When Peeta had asked if all the instruction was really necessary, Marvel had simply laughed and told him that he should be grateful that, unlike the tourists, he was getting superb surfing instruction for free.

Peeta's waiting was abruptly ended by the sight his surfing instructor's jeep racing up the street towards him. The brakes squeaked audibly as it came to a stop before Peeta, the window immediately rolling down as music blared out.

"Ready to go, my young padawan?" Marvel asked playfully.

Peeta scoffed as he took in the music. "The Beach Boys? Really?"

Marvel shrugged. "Hey, if we're gonna do this, we're gonna do it right. Get your board up there so we can get moving," he said, gesturing to the top of the vehicle were his board was loaded in the mounted rack.

Peeta did as his friend requested, making sure his rented board was secured. He wasn't even sure if he had enough money at the moment if anything happened to it. He looked at Marvel's for a second. He knew very little about surfing, even after his month in his friend's self-proclaimed surfing academy, but even he could tell that the board was significantly nicer than his rental. The slick green fiberglass of the shortboard made Peeta's scuffed up rented white longboard look like something he'd fished out of a landfill. He silently wondered how much it cost. Given their finances, both he and Marvel lived fairly frugal lives, although his friend had apparently owned the board for years.

Peeta was grateful to drop back into the air conditioned cab of the jeep, his friend deftly maneuvering the vehicle through the traffic of Hawaii's largest city. "So, where are we headed?" he asked as the jeep pulled onto Interstate H-1, the busy throughway that spanned the southern coast of Oahu.

Marvel's green eyes flashed at Peeta from behind his sunglasses for a moment before refocusing on the road. "We're going to a place called Lanikai Beach, near Kailua."

"We been there before?" Peeta searched his memories of the past several weekends, trying to recall the names of all the beaches they'd been to. He was still struggling with the names of the places in Hawaii, all the strange combinations of syllables that his outsider tongue regularly mangled and that he had even greater difficulty retaining in his memory.

Marvel shook his head, unaware he'd silently quelled some of his friend's concerns about memory loss. "No. Closest we got to it was Waimanalo Beach. It's a great spot for a beginner, though. Fairly calm waters, no jagged reefs...a much lower chance of you dying."

"Ha ha," Peeta drawled, not wanting to reveal how much time he'd spent on YouTube the past week watching videos of surfing wipeouts and the nervousness that had been steadily building since.

"It's not very busy today. You'll like it a lot better than Waikiki. I promise," Marvel said as the jeep continued west, the traffic thinning out a bit as they left the heart of the city.

"That's a fairly low bar to set," Peeta joked, stewing in his animosity for the place. He suspected he would've liked it a lot more a hundred years ago, when there weren't tourists covering every grain of sand and draining the area of much of its natural beauty. The only part he liked at all was the view it offered of the immense Diamond Head volcanic cone, which he'd sketched several times since arriving on the island.

"At least you don't have to try to teach tourists from Illinois to surf around there," Marvel said, "With all those people in the water, it's like trying to surf through an obstacle course."

"Yeah, you're missing out on the joys of hauling luggage," Peeta drawled as he reclined his seat a bit, listening passively as the Beach Boys launched into 'Surfin' Safari'.

"Oh, come on," Marvel said, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, "It can't be that bad. I bet you get some good tips."

"It's hit and miss. Some guests are cool. Others are really really cheap," Peeta turned towards his friend, "You'd think people who could afford Hawaiian vacations would be a bit more generous."

Marvel chuckled and shook his head. "They didn't get that rich just handing money out. Not even to the greatest bellhop in Hawaii."

"I suppose not," Peeta said with a sigh, looking out the window as the jeep headed off H-1, taking Interstate H-3 to the northeast. As they drove, the highway stretched forward into a valley, lush green hills rising starkly on either side. It reminded Peeta a bit of western Oregon, just with a clear sky and a tropical bent.

"Whoa," Peeta's blue eyes widened as his fingers itched to paint, or at the very least sketch, what he was seeing.

"Lanikai is great, but the drive is almost worth it on its own," Marvel said, the appreciation obvious in his voice, "The best part doesn't even come 'til after the tunnel."

"Tunnel?" Peeta asked, only to have his question answered when it appeared in the distance, drilled into one of the lush green peaks that occupied the stretch of sky before them.

The drive through was sort, the noises of the road immediately vanishing as the tunnel swallowed them. A heavy whooshing sound immediately filled the cab of the jeep, even drowning out the harmonies of the Beach Boys. Peeta stared ahead expectantly, towards the glowing archway marking the end of the tunnel, towards the view his friend had mentioned.

Peeta's jaw dropped as the jeep burst through the other side and back into the warm morning sunshine. The highway they drove on was suddenly elevated, raised above a vibrant expanse of jungle that stretched forward towards the horizon, where the deep blue waters of the sea met the sky beyond the shore. On the sides of the highway, the ancient volcanic cliffs rose in jagged spurts, the black rock having long since been covered in a carpet of green foliage that Peeta had never seen before setting foot on Oahu.

"Damn," Peeta muttered, gaping and silently kicking himself for not bringing his sketchbook, even if he was supposed to be spending the day surfing.

"You're not in Kansas anymore, my friend," said Marvel from the driver's seat, smiling a bit himself as he took in Peeta's awed expression.

Even as the tropical landscape flattened out, the rest of the ride of Kailua was equally mesmerizing to Peeta. Lush jungle seemed to encroach on the road everywhere they drove. If he didn't know better, Peeta might've thought he was driving through the Amazon, like one of the documentaries he'd watched on Animal Planet when he was a kid, back when anything outside of Oregon had seemed exotic.

Marvel had remained largely quiet, tapping his fingers a bit on the steering wheel and humming along to the music, a relaxed smile occupying his face. Peeta admired that ease, the way he looked like he was exactly where he always planned to be. He silently wondered if it was something that came inevitably with time or if it was something he'd have to actively seek if he wanted it. He never recalled having it growing up. Maybe it was his mother's fault or maybe not. He'd also found it difficult to put down roots in college with the doomsday clock to graduation always ticking down, closing in like a pursuing posse. Peeta hadn't been in Hawaii long enough to feel like it was his home, but he wanted it to be. He wanted to feel like something more than just an odd tenant passing through a place. He wanted to be somewhere where his presence felt natural.

The sun was well above the horizon by the time the duo reached Lanikai Beach. Marvel parked the jeep near the local civic center a few blocks from the water, which lay hidden behind a luxurious wall of affluent beachfront vacation homes. Marvel was looking down at his phone, thumbs tapping rapidly over the screen, as Peeta flung his door open. He could already smell the salt hanging in the air.

Peeta stretched his arms over his head, attempting to loosen up a bit after the drive, only to be startled by the excited sound that burst from his friend. "What?" Peeta asked.

Marvel's lips spread into a toothy grin. "Looks like we'll have some company later. Clove, Finnick and Katniss all got the day off and said they'll swing by."

Of the three names, Peeta had only met one of them in person. Finnick and Katniss were both friends of Marvel's. They were two of the countless people Marvel had spoken highly of and promised to introduce to Peeta to help him make some other friends on the island. Clove was a different story. The dark-haired Australian had turned out to be a bit more than Marvel's friend. According to him, they'd known each other for several years but hadn't gotten together until Marvel had returned from college. Peeta hadn't been exposed to it firsthand until he'd gotten up one Saturday to make himself some breakfast and was startled by the sight of Clove rummaging through the kitchen in one of Marvel's oversized t-shirts. Since then, the couple had gone out fairly regularly, allowing Peeta to have the apartment to himself and get some work done on his paintings.

"Finnick's the one that's the lifeguard, right?" Peeta said, trying to ensure he had all of Marvel's friends straight in his head.

"Yeah, he works up at Waimea Bay, on the North Shore," Marvel answered as he clambered up onto the jeep to retrieve the surfboards, "You should see the guy swim. It's like he was born in the water."

"And Katniss," Peeta started, searching his memories, "Isn't she the one who makes those wood carvings?"

"No, you're thinking of Johanna. Katniss runs her family's store up in Haleiwa. She's usually pretty busy but when her mom is feeling better she's able to come surfing with us," Marvel answered, hoisting Peeta's crappy surfboard, "Here, catch."

Before Peeta could protest, his board was already in the air, forcing him to run under it like a football player fielding a punt. "Careful!" he snapped after his board was secure in his burly arms, "I'd like to get my deposit back on this thing."

Marvel just rolled his eyes as he hoisted his own board and hopped down. "Oh, please," he said, observing the foam board's worn exterior, "What's going to happen to that thing that hasn't happened already?"

Peeta grumbled as Marvel hoisted his board, the pair beginning to walk down towards where Peeta assumed the beach was. Glancing over his shoulder, he could see more great hills behind them, draped in greenery with unimaginably expensive homes dotting the tops like sparkling Christmas ornaments. The sounds of waves grew closer as the two friends hung a left, skirting the edge of the beachfront homes until they reached what looked like an alleyway with white sand gushing out. As they rounded the corner, Peeta couldn't help but remember the tunnel on the drive over and the view that awaited on the other side. Looking down the alley, Peeta could see narrow sliver of beach, three bars of sand, ocean and sky sandwiched between the wooden frames of the two houses.

Peeta's eyes widened as they walked down the alley and the full view opened up to him. The sand was clean in front of him, sloping down gradually into the azure waters that rolled in as gentle waves. The sea darkened into a deeper navy further out, jarring with the lighter blue of the sky and the pair of squat brown islands that sat on the horizon. Clusters of tall palm trees stretched down the beach, the covered boats of the locals pulled up on shore and parked beneath them.

"Welcome to Lanikai Beach," Marvel said, pride obvious in his voice.

Peeta glanced all over. The beach was largely unoccupied. A few older people lounged in the sand to the right and he could spot a few swimmers out in the water. Nothing like Waikiki. "You weren't kidding about it not being busy," Peeta said.

"Yeah, but it'll get worse as the day wears on. Most of the tourists are still asleep right now," Marvel said, squinting out at the water for a moment as the wind tousled his shaggy brown hair like the tops of the palm trees, "Here," he said, handing Peeta a small container of board wax, "Wax it up and let's get out there."

After a few minutes of annoyingly fastidious waxing, Peeta found himself heading into the water for the first time with a surfboard. He'd gotten a bit more comfortable with the ocean since moving to the island, but the uneasiness wasn't completely gone. He stepped cautiously, regretting the hours he'd spent watching Shark Week as a kid. Marvel, meanwhile, stepped easily through the surf with his long legs, which his friend couldn't help but think reminded him a bit of a flamingo.

"Alright," Marvel announced, pausing once the water was up to his thighs and Peeta's waist, "Here's a good spot to start paddling."

Peeta nodded, dropping his board into the water and holding it with his hands a second later, keeping it straight as a depleted wave brushed past him. "You coming?" he turned to look at Marvel.

The taller boy shook his head. "I wanna watch you on your first wave. It'll be easier to correct you that way."

Peeta quirked a blonde eyebrow at his friend. "You say that like you think it's gonna go horribly wrong."

"Peeta, you're my best friend and I believe you will eventually get this. That being said, I would bet my soul that your first wave goes horribly wrong," The unwavering confidence in Marvel's voice grated on Peeta a bit. His friend may have been a good surfer but he didn't know everything. He certainly couldn't predict the future.

"I expect an apology when I get back," Peeta said, belly-flopping onto his board and beginning to paddle out.

"Hey!"

Peeta huffed and glanced over his shoulder. "What?"

"Unless you plan on losing that board and your deposit, you might wanna attach your leg rope," Marvel said dryly.

Peeta looked down and immediately flushed at the sight of his rope dangling in the water. "Thanks," he muttered, wishing he could conceal his embarrassment better as he attached it to his leg.

Peeta was grateful to start paddling, gliding across the water and towards the breaking waves. He remembered Marvel's advice and kept his mouth closed, breathing through his nose whenever the salt water came up over the nose of the board. He could see the sun off to his left, still rising and glinting on the choppy surface of the water. The two rocky islands, looking a bit greener now that he was closer, stood off to his right, rising out of the sea like two miniature volcanoes. His strong arms cut easily through the water, carrying him quickly to the area where the blue waves broke into churning whitewater.

The artist spun around on his board. He was surprised to see how small Marvel looked, now straddling his board back in the waist deep water and looking towards him intently. Peeta sat on his and waved his arm in the air. Marvel returned the gesture immediately, the suggestion of solidarity giving his friend a sliver of confidence as he waited for the right wave. He sat for a few minutes, glancing anxiously over his shoulder and preparing to hop onto his board only to have each wave he tried for break too early or race past him and break further towards the beach.

Peeta swore under his breath, imagining Marvel chuckling at his ineptitude on a surfboard. He could feel beads of sweat forming on the upper parts of his head, which were still dry despite the ocean's activity. He glanced back at Marvel, who looked quite comfortable as he sat on his surfboard like it was a throne. Peeta actually felt a bit bored as he bobbed in the water, waiting for a wave that would probably be too far out or come too far in for him to ride it.

When the artist glanced over his shoulder, all boredom vanished. A large wave rushed towards him like an oncoming car, cresting at the perfect moment for him to ride it. Peeta found himself paddling desperately to keep up with the powerful water, arms slicing through the salty liquid like the oars of a viking's ship. He could feel the momentum of the wave beginning to carry his board, lifting it as the water headed to its crescendo. Peeta's calf muscles twitched, ready to jump up and ride the wave for all it was worth. He could feel the adrenaline pumping through his veins like some kind of euphoric substance, intoxicating him. It was the same sensation he used to feel before a wrestling match, that rabid anticipation of the coming excitement that sharpened everything.

The morning sun shone brilliantly over the water as Peeta channeled his power into his arms. Everything was perfect in that moment as the artist's bare feet lifted into the air. Then, as his feet hit the board, everything went wrong. In a singular instant, Peeta's first wave imploded like a supernova. He was barely able to scream before he found himself thrown face first into the water. Despite his frantic flailing, the force of the wave ran him over, driving him against the sandy bottom and tossing him around like a piece of clothing in a dryer. To make matters worse, in his panic, he hadn't remembered his friend's advice to keep his mouth closed and a large spurt of salt water had found its way into his lungs.

Peeta burst out of the water like a whale breaching. He was dimly aware of Marvel's voice, agitated in concern off in the distance, but he was too busy alternating between hacking and taking desperate gulps of air to answer.

"Shit, Peeta! Are you alright?" Marvel called out, paddling over on his board effortlessly.

Peeta's arms flailed for a moment before his left palm slapped against his board, still tethered to him despite the waves and his wipeout. "Yeah...I'm – Peeta had to pause again to cough. "I'm alright," he finished, dragging himself back up onto his board, feeling like he'd just run a marathon on an hour of sleep.

"You need a moment?" Marvel asked, watching nervously as his friend's coughs sputtered out.

"Unless you want to fish my corpse out of here, yeah. I need a moment," Peeta mumbled as he flopped down onto his board, bobbing in the surf like a buoy.

Marvel nodded in understanding, glancing over at the waves coming in further out. The tide had carried Peeta a bit closer to the shore, allowing him to rest in the shallow water. "Y'know," Marvel started, a smirk slowly spreading across his face, "I hate to say I told you so…"

Peeta groaned. "Shut up."

"I just wish I could've recorded that scream. It was magnificent, like something out of a crappy disaster movie," Marvel teased.

Peeta pried his head off his surfboard to glare at his friend. "Keep going and I'll kick your ass once we're back on dry land."

"Alright alright," Marvel held his hands up in surrender, "But seriously, don't feel bad about that. Everybody falls the first time."

"Did you?" Peeta asked. He'd seen Marvel surf a few times and it was difficult to imagine him ever face-planting into the ocean.

Marvel just chuckled. "Yeah, my dad took me out for the first time when I was little. I fell over and over and over. But I eventually got the hang of it. Everybody falls. You just gotta get back on the board and try again."

Peeta nodded despite his stomach churning at the thought of being tossed around by the waves repeatedly. The worst part hadn't been falling. The worst part had come after he fell and swallowed water. Every primal instinct was screaming at him to get to the surface, towards the sweet layer of limitless oxygen ten feet above his head. But the wave had other plans, its power forcing him into submission against the sandy bottom despite his frantic efforts to free himself, eyes burning from the salt and gagging on the undrinkable liquid. It had given the young artist an entirely new respect for the power of the ocean.

"I thought you said this was a good place for beginners," Peeta said, watching the breaking waves warily.

"It is," Marvel answered, confusion evident in his voice.

"Doesn't feel like it," Peeta laughed humorlessly, "Feels like you're trying to kill me."

Marvel's lips twitched into a bit of a smirk, his eyes following Peeta's to the waves beyond. "If I was trying to kill you, I'd have taken you to the North Shore. Believe it or not, those are fairly small waves for Hawaii," said the taller boy as he gestured to the active waters of Lanikai.

Peeta blanched, his mind conjuring up images of apocalyptic hundred foot waves pummeling the surfers bold enough to venture to the North Shore of Oahu. "You ever surf up there?" he asked.

Marvel looked thoughtful for a moment. "Some. It's mostly with Finnick. He likes the challenge, but it can be a pretty scary place."

Confusion overcame Peeta. The North Shore scared him, but he couldn't fathom why its waves would scare Marvel even slightly. He'd seen his friend surf. He was good, damn good. The way he could glide over the waves on his shortboard was a thing of beauty, like watching a superb musician hit all the right notes. "What about it is scary?" Peeta finally asked.

A look of discomfort twisted his friend's usually affable face. His eyes flicked to Peeta's, a bit wary, like was trying to gauge if he should answer the question or brush it off. Then, the look eased and the harsh lines vanished from Marvel's face. He took a deep breath. "The waves are pretty powerful and there's a lot of nasty reefs. I also had a pretty bad experience up there when I was fifteen. I almost drowned."

"Really?"

Marvel nodded. "I was up there with my buddy Cato. Y'know, the one who's in the army now. Anyway, I saw a big wave coming my way and got all excited, completely forgot about one of the reefs nearby. When I fell, I got slammed into it, hit my head real bad. Then, to make everything worse, the current got ahold of me and started pulling me further and further out. I was dizzy and my head was pounding and I was swallowing a ton of water. That was when I got scared. I thought I was going to drown."

Peeta swallowed for a moment, still bobbing on his longboard alongside his friend, whose downcast eyes followed his finger as it traced random patterns on the beautiful green surface of his shortboard.

"Fortunately, Cato pointed me out to the lifeguard and he managed to pull my ass out of there before I drowned," Marvel continued, "I coughed up a shit-load of water and I found out later that I'd gotten a concussion when I hit the reef. I couldn't surf for about a month after that."

Peeta scoffed. "I'm amazed you ever wanted to surf again."

Marvel smiled, head ducking down to his chest and bobbing a bit as if Peeta's words were rattling around inside his head. "Maybe I'm just a maniac, but I love it. I could never give it up, not even after that."

"So, that's it? You just got back out there no problem?" Peeta asked.

Marvel chuckled a bit. "Well, I can't tell you I wasn't scared the first time I went back out in that water. I kept thinking about hitting that reef and being so dazed that I couldn't even swim right. But I knew that I loved surfing and that I couldn't quit just because I was scared. So, I got on my board and I got back out there."

Peeta sighed deeply, recalling the terrifying feeling of being held underwater by the wave, cut off from desperately-needed oxygen. "So, you just have to do it, huh? Get back out there even when you're scared?"

"Especially when you're scared," Marvel said, "You give fear an inch, it'll take a mile."

Peeta nodded in understanding, recalling all the times he'd been afraid in his life and all it could have denied him, all he could've had if he'd only had the courage to reach out and take it. The more he thought, the more he could feel his resolve hardening like a piece of iron fresh from the forge.

"Alright," Peeta said, laying belly-down on his board again and slipping his arms into the water to paddle, "Let's keep going."

~

The sun gradually rose higher in the sky as Peeta Mellark continued to fall off his surfboard. New arrivals began trickling onto the previously empty beach, weighed down with an arsenal of coolers, towels, umbrellas, chairs and snorkeling equipment. Marvel remained in the shallow waters, still observing his friend even as children began to play around him. He crossed his arms over his chest, impervious to the splashing of a pair of boys off to his left, and squinted his eyes, watching intently as Peeta began to paddle with a new wave. His form looked good. His timing seemed right. Marvel watched as Peeta pushed up correctly and got his feet on the surface of the board, only for his stance to send him careening into the waves. Marvel sighed as Peeta's soaked blonde head popped back up. He'd at least gotten better at not swallowing water.

"You see anything that time?" Peeta asked as he paddled towards his friend, carefully avoiding the swimmers that seemed as ubiquitous as the fish by that point in the day.

"Yeah, your stance was a little off. It ruined your balance," Marvel answered, rubbing his chin in thought.

"Was I too far forward or too far back?"

Marvel shook his head. "Neither. Your feet were shifted a bit to the right instead of keeping them in the middle of the board. It's why you fell the direction you did."

"Right," Peeta said, wiping some salt water from his slightly stung eyes. He remembered what his friend said, that it took time to learn and that everybody fell when they were starting out. Still, treading water and getting tossed into the surf over a dozen times was beginning to sap his energy.

"Remember, your feet need to stay nailed down once they're on," Marvel continued, easily slipping into teacher-mode, "If you want to change direction, keep the movement in your hips and shift your weight carefully."

Peeta nodded without thinking, huffing a bit. "Do you mind if I take a break? I'm sure you'd like to surf a little instead of just sitting there, watching me fall."

"Sure," Marvel agreed, relenting a bit easier than Peeta had expected, "Sit on the beach for a bit and catch your breath."

Peeta sighed in relief and hopped off his board, his toes finding the sand beneath the shallow water. He edged past his friend and was plodding towards the beach, his board in hand, when Marvel's voice reached his ears. "Oh, Peeta?"

"Yeah?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder at his companion.

"Don't get too comfy," Marvel said, sporting a playful grin, "You're going to catch a wave even if we have to stay out here all night."

"Can't wait," Peeta drawled before turning and dragging himself up the beach, the fatigue of the past few hours weighing him down like an anchor.

He dropped his board unceremoniously onto an empty expanse of white sand before flopping down beside it. The sand clung to each part of his soaked skin and wetsuit that it touched, but the artist was too tired at that moment to care. He leaned back onto his elbows, taking in the sights. Given the overhead position of the sun, Peeta assumed it was around noon. Marvel had been right about the tourists arriving as the morning wore on, but it was still nowhere near as crowded as Waikiki Beach, something he was grateful for. He was even more grateful for the large clusters of the palm trees that shaded him from the sun's rays. Out of the water, he could feel the afternoon heat settling over the island. He wished he'd thought to bring some fresh water.

As Peeta looked out over the beach, he spotted Marvel, his lanky frame distinct even as he bobbed out in the distant surf. He could see his friend glancing over his shoulder constantly, no doubt searching for the right wave. It arrived faster than Peeta had anticipated. Marvel's long arms began to strike the water like the wheels of a paddle steamer, propelling him along. Unlike Peeta, his movements didn't come in spurts or jerks. He moved fluidly, completely comfortable on the board. He got up effortlessly and began riding the wave, knees slightly bent and shaggy hair blown backward as he glided across the water. As he watched it, Peeta couldn't help but think of ice skating despite the fact that his friend probably wouldn't appreciate the comparison. But he could see the similarities, the graceful gliding, the subtle weight shifts, the artful poise and intense concentration of the person doing it.

Marvel's complete comfort made Peeta bit envious. He was more comfortable everywhere, out in the water, at his job, at the various places they went on Oahu. No matter where they went, Peeta never felt completely at ease. He always felt like someone who stuck out, the guy who always needed directions, the guy who couldn't surf worth a damn, the guy who had nobody to hang out with whenever Marvel was busy. When he'd first come to the island, Peeta had assumed he'd acclimate quickly. Instead, it had been slow going. The odd hours of his job kept him busy, he hadn't made many new friends and he still got lost on occasion in Honolulu. He finally sighed. That was the difficult thing about a home. It wasn't as simple as just moving to a new place.

Peeta watched Marvel hop casually off his board as the wave came to an end. Despite the fact that he'd seen it before, he was always a bit amazed that Marvel could surf at all with his lanky frame that looked like it'd lend itself better to a sport like basketball. Still, it worked for him. In only a few seconds, he was back on his board, using his orangutan arms to quickly paddle back out towards the waves.

"That's my view to admire, mate. Not yours."

The quip and the distinct Australian accent it was uttered in made the voice easy to identify. Peeta turned to see Clove approaching him, clad in black wetsuit and carrying a shortboard of her own.

"Don't worry, Clove," Peeta said, holding his hands up and smirking at the shorter girl, "Your territory is very clearly marked."

"I should hope so," drawled the Australian as she dropped her board in the sand and sat beside the artist, watching as her boyfriend caught another wave further out.

Peeta glanced past Clove, expecting to see two more people arriving on her heels but instead saw nothing but a family of tourists heading down to the water. "Weren't Katniss and Finnick supposed to be coming with you?"

"Oh, Peeta. Is my company not enough for you?" Clove quipped, her voice colored with fake-hurt that had Peeta rolling his blue eyes.

"We both know you're not here to see me fall off a surfboard," Peeta retorted, slipping into the banter easily.

"No, but that is a nice bonus," Clove's lips twitched into one of those cat-like smirks he'd seen occupying her freckled face several times before. For a moment, he pondered Marvel and Clove, the ways they were similar and the ways they differed. Both possessed wit in spades and could be quite playful when they wanted to be. Still, Marvel's banter was casual, good-natured and tinged with the sunny warmth of the tropics. Clove's always had a bit of an edge to it, a hint of danger that suggested she wasn't someone whose bad side you wanted to get on. It was a quality Peeta suspected attracted Marvel, although it unnerved him slightly.

"So, did Katniss and Finnick come with you or what?"

Clove rolled her eyes. "Yeah, they're coming. They're carrying some stuff over from the car."

"Stuff?" Peeta arched a blonde eyebrow, "What stuff?"

"Their surfboards, towels and one very full cooler," Peeta could hear Clove pull a smirk again at the last item.

"You came prepared," Peeta observed, hoping there was some water in that cooler for his parched throat.

"I can't take credit for the last one. It was Finnick's idea."

"I like him already."

Both Peeta and Clove chuckled a bit. Out in the water, Marvel caught another wave, standing as effortlessly on his shortboard as most people stand on dry land. Peeta couldn't tell whether or not the wave was significantly smaller than the ones that had dispatched him. He wanted to believe it was, but he couldn't completely dispel the thought that his friend's skill was the only real difference.

Clove's sharp elbow jabbed into the artist's exposed side, evicting all thoughts of surfing from his head. "There they are," she said, rising to her feet and brushing the sand from her black wetsuit.

Clove was already heading off to greet the new arrivals as Peeta clambered to his feet, not bothering to brush off the large quantities of sand that had accumulated on his wetsuit. He retrieved his scarred surfboard before heading towards the already talking trio, the sun shining down brightly overhead.

"You must be Peeta," said a tall bronze-skinned young man, flashing a smile that was so bright Peeta could swear it gleamed.

"And you must be Finnick," Peeta answered, Marvel's words about him being a lifeguard immediately returning. He could definitely see it. Finnick reminded him a bit of Marvel, just with lighter hair and substantially more muscle mass underneath his wetsuit.

"That I am. Marvel said he's been teaching you how to surf," Finnick smiled earnestly, oblivious to Peeta's ineptitude on a surfboard.

"He's certainly been trying, but it hasn't been too pretty a sight," Peeta said, a bit sheepish as he recalled the way Marvel had praised Finnick's surf abilities, especially since Marvel was very capable in his own right.

To Peeta's surprise, Finnick clapped him on the shoulder, his disposition as sunny as the tropical weather around them. "No worries. I'm a pretty enough sight for all of us."

Clove chuckled at Finnick's words, causing the taller boy to swivel immediately towards her, asking what was so funny. It was when Finnick turned that Peeta saw her for the first time. She'd stood to the side in her orange wetsuit, obscured by Finnick's large frame as she leaned on her surfboard. Katniss Everdeen raised her chin as her grey eyes met Peeta's blue ones. The artist's stomach dropped as he stared for a moment, mouth refusing to form the coherent words he knew he needed to say to keep the situation from getting weird. And yet he couldn't. It reminded him of when he was in sixth grade and tried asking Maria Schaffer to the fall dance, palms sweating, legs fidgeting and the charming words he'd spent the previous night preparing choking themselves in his throat.

"So, you're Peeta?" Katniss said, tossing the drowning young man a life-preserver.

"Uh, yeah...that's me," Peeta said, forcing a smile onto his face and praying to any god that would listen to keep his voice from cracking.

A small Mona Lisa smile came onto Katniss' face at Peeta's floundering. She looked like she was about to say something else when Clove interrupted. "Well, now that everyone's met everyone, can we get in the water?"

"You just better get ready to swim, Clove. That water looks like it's a bit deeper than three feet," Finnick teased, prompting the dark haired young woman to shoulder past him, heading down towards the water.

The bronze-skinned lifeguard chuckled and hoisted his board, running excitedly down the sand, whooping like a kid heading to recess. Katniss quickly followed, her dark braid swishing behind her as she ran, silently trailing Clove and Finnick into the embrace of the Pacific Ocean. Farther out in the water, Marvel saw his friends approaching and waved his gangly arms, beckoning them to join him. Peeta froze, his fingers clenching around his surfboard. Not only had he not been able to get a drink of water yet, the idea of surfing now seemed substantially more terrifying than it had that morning. It was one thing for Marvel to see him humiliate himself. He'd seen him pass out on the floor of their kitchen back in college, so drunk that he hadn't even been able to drag himself to his bed. It was an entirely different matter for these people he'd only just met to watch him fail spectacularly at something that was probably as easy for them as walking. As he thought more about Katniss' mesmerizing grey eyes and the elegantly sculpted features of her face, his nervousness increased. Marvel seemed to spot him lingering on the beach and jerked his arms sharply, beckoning him into the water.

"Shit," Peeta muttered before grabbing his surfboard and rushing down the sand.

~

The next few hours of surfing were somehow worse than the previous ones for Peeta Mellark. He felt like he was stuck in a time warp, one where he was doomed to fall off his surfboard over and over and over and over until the end of time. To make matters worse, there was no obvious pattern for Marvel to point out for his struggling pupil. Sometimes, Peeta leaned too far to one side. Other times, the board slid out from under his feet and fell backwards. Or the wave would get under him and pitch him over the front of his board and into the familiar embrace of the sea.

The others fared much better. Marvel was no surprise, looking like a man out for a leisurely stroll as he rode the waves of Lanikai, leaning casually with the momentum of the sea and flashing grins at Clove, who just rolled her eyes in response. She was the polar opposite of her boyfriend. When she rode the waves, the Australian's features were stone, frozen in a rigid expression of intense concentration. Her dark brows knitted as her equally dark eyes narrowed into slits, staring down the approaching waves as if they were enemy combatants. There was no fluidity in her surfing. It was all tense muscles and unshakeable focus, every maneuver of her board reflecting power and discipline. Finnick, meanwhile, marked some balance between Marvel and Clove. He had Clove's power and the focus that reflected years of work at his craft, but also had a dexterity and natural ease on the board that more resembled Marvel and reflected prodigious talent more than anything else. As he watched him, Peeta realized that Marvel hadn't oversold Finnick Odair's abilities. He imagined that watching Finnick surf was like watching Picasso paint. Every movement and every decision reflected an ability that couldn't be taught. His face reflected it as well, glowing beautifully in his victories like some elegant golden idol.

Katniss, meanwhile, was something else entirely. She seemed to surf only for herself, never trying to replicate any of Finnick's tricks or coming up with any of Clove's snarky comments when somebody fell. When she rose up on her board to ride the wave, her face went blank. None of Marvel's sense of fun was there. Neither was Clove's furious concentration or Finnick's unparalleled supremacy. When she surfed, it looked almost like she was meditating, like she'd been transported to a higher plane of consciousness. Sometimes she fell, but it never rattled her, just like how a perfect run on a wave never seemed to leave her elated. For her, surfing seemed to be nothing but balance, never too high and never too low.

Peeta was idly wishing he'd studied psychology so that he'd have a better understanding of how athletics could reflect the idiosyncrasies of somebody's personality when he heard a familiar churning behind him. Lying on his surfboard, Peeta glanced over his shoulder to see another wave approaching. Like a robot, he moved automatically, arms cutting through the water and preparing to attempt to get up on the board. He could feel the dread settling in the pit of his stomach as the speed over the water picked up around him. He was the only one surfing at the moment. The others were all lingering in the shallow water and would certainly be treated to another excellent view of him wiping out.

Peeta's prophecy came to fruition the moment he tried to stand on his board. Despite his mind zeroing in on his footwork, they felt off the moment they hit the rental's slick surface. Once again, the board squirted out from under the artist and sent him flailing into the surf behind him. As the rushing water turned him in somersaults, Peeta entertained the idea of disconnecting himself from his board and attempting to swim away from Marvel's surfing academy/prison.

Marvel was watching when Peeta's head broke the surface. His sunny face had lost a bit of his luster as his friend paddled over. Clove laughed, Finnick looked sympathetic and Katniss revealed nothing as the trio headed back out into the deep water, leaving Marvel behind to deal with his friend.

"I can't figure out what it is," Marvel sighed, squinting at the sun as it continued dropping with the approach of the evening, "I thought for sure you'd have gotten one by now."

"I thought you said it took time," Peeta questioned, a bit amazed that he was still alive after getting tossed around by the ocean all day.

"It does. I never expected you to master it on your first day, but I thought you'd catch at least one just based on the laws of probability," Marvel said, his bony shoulders drooping a bit.

Peeta sighed. "It's not your fault. I've never been much good at water sports."

"You want to get another run in? Contrary to what I said earlier, I can't keep you out here after nightfall. It's too dangerous," Marvel said, glancing at the sun as Apollo pulled it west over the lush green hills behind Lanikai.

Peeta exhaled and took a deep gulp of air, trying to rebuild his fractured resolve, especially with the temptation of deliverance at nightfall slipping into his mind. "Maybe. Give me a few minutes. I really need a drink."

Marvel nodded in understanding as Peeta headed back up the sand, towards the awaiting oasis of Finnick's cooler. The cheap plastic container had grown considerably lighter since it had arrived earlier that afternoon, largely thanks to Marvel, Clove and Finnick relieving it of much of its intoxicating cargo. The thought that Finnick continued to surf superbly despite the alcohol in his system caused Peeta to shake his head in a strange cocktail of disbelief, self-loathing and envy.

Peeta flopped down onto the sand alongside his board and plunged his hand into the cooler. The ice had melted, leaving the remaining beers and a few bottles of water bobbing around like buoys out in the surf. He felt around until his fingers closed on one of the canned beers. He glanced out at the remaining surfers as he popped the top and took a long gulp, feeling the liquid drop heavily into his gut. He could see Marvel casually riding a small wave. Beyond that, he could see Clove and Finnick trying to best each other on the larger ones. Finnick rose above the waves like Poseidon while the intense young woman nearby channeled every once of focus she had to compete with his natural talent. Meanwhile, Katniss, seeming to have grown tired of cruising the waves further down Lanikai, hoisted her board and walked gracefully out of the water and towards Peeta, immediately sending the artist into an internal panic.

"Can you hand me a water?" she asked once she stood before him, towering over his seated form.

"Sure," Peeta said a little too quickly, immediately digging into the cooler and hoping the menial task would distract him from the way her wetsuit clung to the contours of her body.

Katniss thanked him as she took the bottle he offered. Peeta expected her to chug it and run back out to the awaiting water, trying to get a few more runs in before nightfall. Instead, she sat beside him, drinking idly from the bottle and watching as the sky slowly darkened to the east.

"Marvel said you're an artist," Katniss' stated.

"Kinda."

Katniss arched an eyebrow. "You're only kind of an artist?"

"I just haven't had much success yet," Peeta felt his face flush a bit at the thought of the unsold paintings he was stockpiling in his half of the apartment. He was sure his mother would've gotten quite a bit of joy out of his failure.

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Well, look at it this way: you only have to sell one to match Van Gogh's total."

Despite his low mood, her comment managed to get a laugh out of Peeta. Katniss laughed a bit as well, a soft low sound that Peeta was hit with a sudden urge to hear again. They soon lapsed into silence, distant sounds of their friends laughter mixing with the steady rhythm of the waves caressing the shore. C'mon, Peeta thought as he glanced at his companion's lovely profile, Say something charming.

"You're a really good surfer," Peeta offered. Smooth, he thought, resisting the urge to smack himself.

Katniss only smiled her usual half-smile, smoky grey eyes glancing at the artist beside her. "Thanks. It's a great way to relax."

Peeta chuckled a bit at that, recalling his countless wipeouts throughout the day. "I don't think relaxing is the word I'd use to describe surfing. Terrifying maybe, but not relaxing."

Katniss laughed slightly and shook her head before fixing Peeta with a steady gaze. "You think too much when you're out there."

"What?"

"I noticed it early on," Katniss continued, "When you surf, you're thinking way too much. You're obsessing over doing everything perfectly and it's throwing you off. You gotta trust your instincts."

Peeta shook his head, thinking of the powerful waves that tossed him around effortlessly and the surfboard that seemed hellbent on sliding out from under him the moment he tried to ride it. "How? How do you trust your instincts when you just don't feel right out there?"

"You can't wave a magic wand and make something feel right. It happens when you stop focusing so much on trying to make it feel right and just live in that moment."

Peeta sat quietly for a few seconds, her words sinking in as the melodic sound of the waves continued. Inside, Peeta could feel something, a new sense of purpose bubbling to the surface and his previous melancholy vanishing. He glanced back over his shoulder. The lush green hills and the luxurious homes dotting their peaks were nothing more than silhouettes against a fading orange sky. Out on the water, he could see the approach of darkness, the light blue of the sky having long since morphed into indigo.

"Thank you," Peeta said simply, grabbing his board and marching down the sand, leaving his can of beer abandoned beside the cooler.

He passed the rest of his companions in the shallow water. "Where are you going?" Marvel asked, having expected Peeta to be ready to pack it in.

"I want to give it one more shot," Peeta fired back over his shoulder before tossing the board onto the surface of the water and flopping on top of it.

Peeta's arms rotated smoothly, propelling him further out onto the dark waters. Waves continued to pass him, spraying him with their salty mist as he paddled through them. He stopped in familiar territory, the same area he'd fallen over and over again that day. There was nobody else left on the open expanse of the ocean, the other surfers and swimmers having long since gone home. Peeta took a deep breath and calmly sat on his board, bobbing serenely as waves too small to ride glided past him. He could see his companions waiting on the beach, three of them sitting further up the sand and Marvel's lanky frame lingering by the water. All were watching him, nothing more than a small dot on the increasingly dark horizon.

Behind him, Peeta heard the familiar rush of the approaching wave. He exhaled calmly, leaning forward on his board and beginning to paddle without glancing back. He kept his gaze forward, on Lanikai Beach, as the water began to lift him. As he paddled, he cleared his mind, his instincts reaching into the water and anticipating the right moment. Peeta felt it and let go. He soon felt his body move, his muscles tightening and feet landing solidly on the scarred surface of his board. For the first time ever, it felt solid beneath him. He felt like he was flying as he found himself riding the wave, his first wave, elevated above the rest of the water, blonde hair blown back by a vigorous cool breeze. He found himself laughing, unable to contain his joy as he took in twilight at Lanikai Beach, confident he'd never seen anything so beautiful.

The wave came to an end, Peeta's momentum allowing him to glide into the shallows like a ship returning to a harbor. He hopped off the board freely, face still split into a smile as he made his way out of the water, glancing up and seeing Marvel sprinting toward him, the others trailing behind him.

"You did it! You fucking did it!" Marvel shouted, practically jumping up and down in his excitement, reminding his friend a bit of a golden retriever.

"I did it," Peeta said evenly, smiling brightly as the others came over to join him.

Finnick clapped him on the back, only a bit less excited than Marvel, while Clove just smirked at him, giving him a subtle nod of approval that Peeta appreciated, especially since she'd gotten quite a bit of laughter out of his wipeouts that day. He saw Katniss standing a bit behind them, smiling gently as the moon came out overhead and night fell over Oahu as softly as blanket, the infinite expanse of the cosmos unfolding above in the legions of swirling galaxies and white stars that dotted the darkened sky. In that moment, Peeta was sure there was nowhere in the universe he'd rather be.


End file.
